Of the Bristly Adventure That Befell Don Quixote
DON QUIXOTE could not bear to see his squire sleep so restfully while he was being weighted down by all the cares of the world. So he woke Sancho, whose stolid unconcern about Dulcinea again was brought home to him, and almost went on his knees in order to induce him to scourge himself. He nearly wept in his efforts to have Sancho inflict the meager amount of three or four hundred lashes upon himself; but as ever the cruel squire remained unmoved. Don Quixote did everything in his power to entice him to do this beautiful deed of sacrifice. He held forth to him what a blessed night it would be for them, if he would only comply with his master's request, for then, Don Quixote suggested, they could spend the remainder of it singing, thus making this the beginning of the pastoral life to which they were about to devote themselves. But Sancho said he was no monk; and the idea of getting up in the middle of the night to perform such rituals did not appeal to him, he frankly avowed. The bewailings of his master, both in Castilian and in Latin, made no impression upon the hard-hearted Sancho, who remained as firm as the rock of Gibraltar, as far as the disenchantment was concerned.
Don Quixote had just made up his mind that it was a useless task to try to prevail upon Sancho at that hour to do his duty, when suddenly there was heard a tremendous and terrifying noise, which increased as it seemed to come closer. Sancho was so frightened that he at once took refuge behind Dapple, entrenching himself between the pack-saddle and his master's discarded armor; and Don Quixote got palpitation of the heart, and began to shiver. As Sancho peeped from behind his entrenchments and Don Quixote took courage to look, the grunting drove of six hundred pigs—for that is what it was—was so close upon them that in the next moment they found themselves knocked to the ground; but it was some time before all of the snorting, disrespectful animals had passed their dirty feet over the prostrate bodies of the knight, his squire and their beasts and provisions.
Sancho rose first, smeared with dirt, and having been stirred to unusual depths by the condition in which he found himself, he begged his master to let him take his sword, saying he felt he had to kill some of the pigs in order to be soothed. The exceedingly bad manners they had displayed and especially the fact that they had crushed all the provisions into nothingness, had produced an ire in Sancho that seemed wellnigh irrepressible.
But Don Quixote calmed his squire with these words, spoken with a melancholy air: "Let them be, my friend. This insult is the penalty of my sin, and it is the righteous chastisement of Heaven that jackals should devour a vanquished knight, and wasps sting him and pigs trample him under foot."
To this Sancho Panza retorted pensively: "I suppose it is the chastisement of Heaven, too, that flies should prick the squires of vanquished knights, and lice eat them, and hunger assail them. If we squires were the sons of the knights we serve, or their very near relations, it would be no wonder if the penalty of their misdeeds descended upon us, even to the fourth generation. But what have the Panzas to do with the Quixotes? Well, let us lie down again and sleep out what little of the night there is left, and God will send us dawn and we shall be all right."
Sancho lay down and slept, but his master sat up and commenced his emulation of the life of a shepherd by singing the song he had composed to his great love, accompanying it with his own sighs, and many wet tears. At last daylight came, and the sun awakened them both. Sancho began to rub his eyes, and they both got up and made ready to journey further. But before leaving Sancho again cursed the pigs for having ruined his stores.
He and his master had traveled the whole day, when they encountered a number of men on horseback, and four or five men on foot, all heavily armed. Don Quixote's heart ached, for he could not forget his promise to the Knight of the White Moon. The men who were mounted approached our hero and Sancho, and surrounded them without speaking a word. Don Quixote attempted to ask a question, but one of them warned him to be silent by putting a finger to his lips, while another one pointed his lance against the knight's breast. Still another one took Rocinante by the bridle; while Sancho was being treated in the same manner by some of the others. Both Don Quixote and Sancho began to be worried as to the outcome of this adventure, for the whole proceeding seemed to them utterly mysterious.
They rode all that day, unable to make out where they were being taken, or who their mysterious captors were, and at last night came. All the while the men were calling them all kinds of names, such as "bloodthirsty lions," "cannibals," "murderous Polyphemes" etc.; and Sancho was scared out of his wits, while Don Quixote was at his wits ends. Both were convinced that some terrible misfortune was in store for them, and they could only pray that they would get out of it as easily as possible.
Before they knew it, it was midnight, and soon after that Don Quixote recognized a castle, which he saw in the distance, as that of the Duke. He was amazed when he found that the men were taking him there, and he said to himself: "God bless me! What does this mean? It is all courtesy and politeness in this house; but with the vanquished, good turns into evil, and evil into worse." They entered the court, and found it arrayed in such a manner that they could not help being amazed and speechless, and they felt fear creeping into their hearts.